


Dim Violet Places

by ghost_ride_the_wip



Series: What if it had been us in the beginning too? [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A very Harmony Yule Ball, Blue yule ball dress rights, F/M, Fluff, Just kids wishing they had time to be kids, What if the Yule ball hadn't ended in tears and nightmares?, fluffy fluff fluff, goblet of fire - Freeform, let them dance!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25910512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghost_ride_the_wip/pseuds/ghost_ride_the_wip
Summary: Tonight he was the last person Hermione wanted to see.Well, the second to last.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Series: What if it had been us in the beginning too? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120115
Comments: 39
Kudos: 291





	1. Chapter 1

In her second year, Hermione had written an essay on how enchanted portraits were an excellent example of how magic could and should be used creatively and not just for function. The portraits that lined the walls of Hogwarts had been painted by experts in their craft, able to move and act and talk in the manner of their subjects. They were a true marvel of wizard technology.

Hermione had neglected to include in her essay, that they also _never shut up_.

“Hermione Granger!” A haggard old witch called from her ornate framing as Hermione dashed up the moving staircases. “Is that you?”

“What are you doing back so early?” Another painting asked.

Hermione kept her eyes down, taking the steps in twos as she rushed past the walls of portraits.

“The ball has barely started!”

“Doesn’t she look lovely in her little blue dress.”

“Hermione, Hermione! Where are you going?”

By the time she made it up to the Gryffindor common room she had run out of patience for any more questions. Carrying her very unsensible shoes in one hand and wiping tear streaked mascara off her face with the other, all she wanted to do was collapse in her dorm room and sleep until summer break.

“Fairy lights.” She barked out the password to the Gryffindor quarters, approaching the final portrait between her and her bed without looking up.

“Ms Granger?” The Fat Lady gasped “What are you doing back so early? All the other girls are still out dancing the night away.”

Hermione clenched her fists into the fabric of her frilly blue skirt, ignoring the stab of shame she felt at being the first girl going back to her room.

“Fairy lights,” she said again.

“You should go back down to the ballroom dear,” the Fat Lady insisted “the Yule Ball doesn’t come to Hogwarts every year, you know.”  
Hermione glared up at the portrait, wondering if she could hex a painting.

 _“Fairy lights,”_ she ground out one last time, a sick satisfaction twisting in Hermione as the poor excuse for an opera singer flinched back at the fury in her eyes. “And don’t make me say it again.”

For once, the Fat Lady shut her trap and opened the door without another word.

The common room was empty, save for a boy laying across a couch in the corner, a forgotten copy of ‘The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection’ in his lap.

Tonight he was the last person Hermione wanted to see.

Well, the second to last.

She meant to walk right past him and make her way up to the girls dorm where she could sulk in peace.

It was out of pure muscle memory and a certain degree of righteous anger, that she made her way over to his couch.

He was getting far too tall, she thought, his head on one arm rest and his feet hanging right over the edge of the other, staring up at the ceiling like he was looking right through it at something no one else could see. He was an echo of the little boy she had met in first year. Taller. Quieter. With heavy shoulders and dark circles around his eyes, and a penchant for being an idiot.

“What are you still doing up?” She demanded, snapping him out of his daze. “I thought I sent you to bed.”

“Hermione,” Harry sat up a bit, a guarded expression settling on his face.

“Wheres _thing 2_?” She asked, glancing around warily for his ginger counterpart.

“Ron went back to our room. I thought I’d just stay out of his way for a while. He was… in a bit of a state.”

“ _He_ was in a state?” Hermione laughed humorlessly. Figures he would play the victim. “So we’re both hiding from him then.”

“Maybe.” Harry admitted “but also, you know, I thought I’d wait up and see if…” Harry shrugged uselessly, unable or unwilling to finish his sentence.

“If what?” Hermione hated the way he just trailed off like that. He was getting less articulate all the time. What _was it_ with teenage boys?

Fine, Hermione thought. If Harry didn’t want to talk to her, then she wouldn’t talk to him. Ignoring the way he jumped at her touch, she nudged his foot with her knee, and Harry promptly swung his legs off the arm rest to make a space for her. She sank into the cushions beside him, dropping her shoes on the old worn carpet and swiping the dark forces book from his lap.

It was opened to a page about the proper incantation for a smoke screen spell.

They stubbornly ignored each other for a while, pretending to read, the muffled sound of another song drifting up from the ballroom below until Hermione cast a quietus charm and plunged them into proper silence.

This, Hermione immediately realised, was worse.

The room seemed full of elephants, and a room of elephants left very little space for anything else.

Harry was the first one to fold.

“How did things go with Victor?” He asked stiffly.

Hermione glared at him. “Oh things went swimmingly,” she replied caustically. “I left him on the dancefloor while I cried myself out on the stairs and when I went back, he was dancing with 3 very limber Beauxbatons.”

Hermione hated the petty bitterness in her tone when referring to the other girls, but Harry seemed stuck on an earlier detail.

“You were crying?” His voice came out small.

“Yes. I am in fact capable of human emotions. Surprise.”

They didn’t speak again for a while. Hermione wondered if Victor had looked for her. Maybe if she went back right now, he would extract himself from his fan club and they could go back to dancing. The thought made her feel strange and empty.

Harry cleared his throat and tried again.

“Ron told me what you said earlier and… well I’m sorry he didn’t ask you to the ball.”

Hermione rounded on him. “It isn’t that he didn’t ask me!” She snapped, loud enough to make Harry jump. “Ronald made it quite clear that he would never want to actually go with me if he could get a real date, and I wouldn’t go with him if he was the last boy left on the planet!” Hermione barely paused for breath. “Why would I ever go with someone who thought I was so impossibly undesirable that no one would ask me until he stooped low enough to need a consolation prize? He genuinely thought the odds of me being asked to the ball were so completely non-existent that he accused me of lying about having a date! Do you know how that feels Harry? From someone you thought was your _friend?_ ”

Hermione was seething again, tears welling hot behind her eyes. Ron had always been a right pain, but tonight he had gone above and beyond.

Deep down she knew it wasn’t about her being repulsive at all- as usual, it was about him. Him being too scared to ask someone he actually wanted to the ball, and then dragging everyone else into a misery of his own making until they felt as bad as he did. And that was somehow worse, because it all could have been so different if not for the emotional incompetence of Ron Weasley.

Hermione glanced at Harry sinking a little lower in his seat.

She watched him sink, and realised too late, that she was yelling at the wrong boy.

“I’m sorry,” he said, like it was his fault. Hermione deflated a bit.

“So am I,” She muttered.

“So is he,” Harry continued. “Ron didn’t mean all that when he asked you, he’s just-“

“Selfish? Immature? Brainless? Pigheaded? A prat?”

“A prat.” Harry confirmed earnestly. “We both are. Two selfish immature brainless prats-“

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “You forgot pigheaded.”

“And so pigheaded,” He amended “We’re practically animaguses from the neck up at this point.”

Hermione glanced over at Harry and imagined him transforming into a pig.

She smiled in spite of herself.

“ _Animagi_ ,” she corrected him. “not animaguses.”

He held her gaze, relaxing slightly, the tension bleeding out of the air between them now that she was smiling.

“I mean it, I’m really sorry Hermione. Ron would never say it but, he’d hate himself for making you cry and, and so do I.”

Hermione sighed, leaning down to rest her head on Harry’s shoulder. It was solid, and wider than she remembered.

“No. _I’m sorry_. I’m sorry I pulled you into it all,” she said. She really was taking all of this out on the wrong person. “It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t the one who said all those hateful things about me and victor.”

“I didn’t stand up for you either.” Harry said ashamedly. “Ron had no right to act the way he did- I should have called him out on it, I know that. I guess I just didn’t want to go back to being in a fight with him again.”

Hermione knew from the way Harry held onto her and Ron, the way he did his very best not to upset them, that Harry wasn’t used to having close relationships. When Ron had stopped speaking to him earlier in the year, Harry seemed to think that was it forever. Whoever had taught him that love and friendship were so fragile would be taught their own lesson about how the bones of the nose were fragile, if they had the misfortune of meeting Hermione.

“I don’t want you to fight with him either- You have enough to worry about right now.” Hermione said. “This is between me and Ronald. You just leave him to me, alright?”

Hermione could feel the relief wash through him, another one of the elephants leaving the room and giving them space to breathe. She would deal with Ron tomorrow when she had a clear head and sensible shoes. For the moment, she gave herself permission to be a little less angry. 

“Alright. But,” Harry nudged her forehead with his chin. “I wish he hadn’t ruined your night. I want to make it up to you, Hermione.”

“How?” Hermione asked tiredly, fiddling with a loose thread on the sleeve of his dress robes. She could see a new scar on the side of his hand that she hadn’t noticed before. “Everything was meant to be so different.” She said. “I was asked to the Yule ball by the _fittest guy_ at this stupid school. Me. Can you believe it?” She allowed herself a moment of pride for the achievement, remembering the way the other girls had looked at her. Like for that moment, they all wished they could be Hermione Granger. It was shallow- it was _conceited_ \- but gods she’d enjoyed it. “I’m meant to be on that stupid dancefloor right now, waiting for a stupid slow song so I can dance with my stupid date and have my first stupid kiss under the stupid mirror ball. And you, boy who lived, _chosen one himself_ ,” she poked Harry in the ribs “could be getting to second base with Cho Chang through her stupid satin dress by now if you had just gotten your act together and asked her out before Cedric-“

_“Blimey Hermione.”_

“- but look at us. Look at the time.” She pointed exasperatedly to the old clock above the fireplace. “It’s not even nine o’clock, and we’re sitting in the common room studying defensive spells, all alone.”

“It does sound pretty pathetic when you say it like that.” Harry conceded, gently extracting his arm from between them to wrap it around her shoulder. He squeezed her gently as she settled back in against him, doing that voice he reserved for when he was trying to cheer her up. “We’re not alone though. We’ve got each other down here at rock bottom.”

“You’re right,” Hermione said flatly. “At least we’re both losers. If you ever decide to get your life together Harry, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Well we’re in no danger of that.” Harry chuckled, laying his head on top of hers. The weight was comforting.

The only sound she could hear was Harry’s breathing, his chest rising up and down. She lifted her hand to his chest and closed her eyes, listening to the rhythm of his heart. 

“You know, I had no idea the Yule ball meant this much to you,” Harry said after a time.

“That’s because you were too busy worrying about yourself to notice.” Hermione pointed out, but there was no malice left in her voice. Harry had had quite the year. “And… it doesn’t really. It’s just…”

Hermione leant back to look at her friend, with a cut on his cheek left by a dragon and his arm around her like she was the one who needed protecting.

“I don’t know. I just wanted to dance and look pretty and pretend my biggest fear was wearing the same dress as someone else. I wanted to be a teenager for a night. Just one night of, pointless, stupid fun before the next fight comes for us.” She said “because the fights just keep getting bigger every year, don’t they? And one day…” She pushed away images of dementors and basilisks and the impending sense of dread she always seemed to carry deep in her gut and focused on Harry’s steady heart beneath her palm. “Sometimes I feel like we’re running out of chances like this Harry.”

Harry wasn’t looking at her. Wordlessly, he reached up and placed his hand over hers, as if he too needed reminding that it was still there, beating.

“That’s awful isn’t it. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put all that doom and gloom in your head,” Hermione said.

Because as much as she feared the years ahead, she feared for him more. For his part in it all.

Harry sighed, a deep, exhausted sound. “Gods sometimes, I feel about a hundred years old.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “Me too,” she said. “To think I really believed we could have a night off to just… be fourteen.”

Harry glanced at her thoughtfully.

And he kept looking.

“What?” Hermione asked after a time.

“You didn’t happen to hang onto that time turner, did you?”

“McGonagall made me return it last year,” she sighed. “Believe me, it’s crossed my mind more than once tonight.”

Harry nodded resolutely. “Well then. Only one thing for it.”

Before she could ask what he meant he was on his feet, dragging her off the couch with him and pulling her into the middle of the empty common room.

“Harry!” She gasped as she stumbled over the hem of her dress.

Sliding his wand out of his sleeve he flicked it down toward the floor.

 _“Sonorous,”_ he said, counteracting Hermione’s silencing charm.

The music from the ballroom swelled back into the room. Hermione stared at the boy standing across from her, a slow grin spreading across his face.

Tucking his wand back into his sleeve, Harry swept into a silly bow.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked, getting whiplash from his sudden and bright smile.

“Don’t you recognise the song?”

Hermione listened for a moment. It was a waltz McGonagall had been teaching them in class.

“My lady,” Harry offered her his hand and his most dashing smile “may I have this dance?”

Still reeling from the sudden change in him, all Hermione could do was laugh and take his hand, and then he was spinning her into his arms.

They had a few false starts- Harry stepped on Hermione’s dress three times until she cast a quick spell to shorten it an inch, and Hermione had her own problems.

“You’re terrible at this,” Harry laughed as she tripped over her own bare feet again.

“I know,” Hermione lamented, scowling down as she tried to match his steps. He moved with the same agility and intention he had on the quidditch field, and Hermione cursed his athleticism as she stepped right on his foot.

“It helps not to look down,” Harry winced.

Hermione forced her eyes up and was greeted with Harry’s- sea glass green and very close.

She tried to move without looking at her feet, focusing on the little creases at the corners of his eyes that happened when he smiled.

“Hermione,” he said after a while, when they had finally found a functional rhythm.

“Mm?”

A smirk played on his lips. “ _You’re leading._ ”

“Oh,” he was right, she realised. She tried to stop, stumbling a bit, but he shook his head, his hand on her waist holding her steady.

“It’s alright,” he chuckled “it works better this way.”

She caught his smile, and then they were giggling their way through the rest of the dance and ending it with equally ridiculous flourishing bows.

“What was all that about then?” Hermione asked, breathless from laughter and exertion.

Harry shrugged, shoving his hands in the pockets of his dress robes.

“Pointless stupid fun?”

Although it was medically impossible, Hermione felt like her heart might burst as her friend smiled at her beneath his shaggy fringe.

Pulling her own wand from a pocket in her skirt, Hermione amplified the music, and added an enchantment she’d been practicing to the ceiling of the common room for good measure.

“That’s brilliant,” Harry murmured as a flurry snow began to float down over them. Unlike the snow in the ballroom, this snow came from silvery white clouds that swirled along the ceiling in spirals of sparkling mist, and it didn’t dissolve into thin air when it reached them. Harry stretched out to catch a handful of snowflakes, glancing back at Hermione with keen wonder. “It’s even better than the spell at the ball,” he remarked “feels real.”

“It’s modelled on the enchantment in the great hall,” Hermione said, standing a little taller. “It reflects the weather outside.”

“Show me how you did it.” Harry said.

Hermione grinned. There was something like a challenge in his eyes.

“Later,” she promised.

With a flick of her wand, she made the music downstairs even louder. This time it was a fast song from the rock band. McGonagall had never taught them how to dance to this one.

If Hermione was bad at the waltz, she was _horrific_ at this, but she soon forgot to care.

They danced like idiots, laughing at each other, laughing at themselves. At some point Harry shucked off his stiff jacket, and Hermione’s hair pins were lost to her moves, and it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

Snowflakes sent shivers down her bare arms and Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually danced like this. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Harry smile like _that_.

“It’s not loud enough!” Hermione declared as another song started, somehow faster than the last. Harry was about to cast another amplifying spell when she took his hand, swinging it lightly and relishing the breathless laugh that bubbled from his chest as she pulled him in close.

“Harry Potter,” she said, leaning into him, near enough that he could hear her over the music and she could smell the snow on his skin. “Will you go to the Yule ball with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this on the train home after work and boy is it un-beta'd!
> 
> I have never written for HP before but I just want these kids 2 be happy and young and carefree for one night is that 2 much to ask??


	2. Chapter 2

Harry skidded to a stop at the top of the steps to the ballroom, throwing his fist up in victory.

“I win!” he announced as Hermione rounded the corner, seconds behind him.

“Yes alright then, mr seeker,” she panted, rolling her eyes at his smugness as she slowed to a halt beside him.

She was the one who had started it, pulling him out of the common room and taking off down the stairs with a ‘ _race you to the ballroom readysetgo!’_ They’d sprinted down the shifting staircases with the indestructible gusto of little kids, the enchanted portraits on the walls cheering them on with unexpected enthusiasm. Hermione might have memorised the patterns of the moving stairs, but Harry was quick. Still- it had been a close win.

Hermione leant back against the bannister to catch her breath, gingerly trying to smooth her wild hair.

“How do I look?” She laughed, as if the answer was certainly awful.

Harry wasn’t sure how to tell her just how wrong she was. He’d been trying to figure out the best way to say that she was quite possibly the prettiest girl at the ball since the moment he’d seen her on these very steps earlier in the night.

Now, standing in the same spot, her hair falling loose and sparkling with her clever snowflakes, mane of untameable curls framing her flushed face and neck, Harry was lost. He’d never used words like stunning or beautiful or _gorgeous_ for Hermione before, but he’d never lied to her either, and he didn’t intend to start. 

“You look,” Harry took a breath, suddenly short of one “great.”

 _Great_ was an understatement. _Great_ was an injustice. But it made Hermione smile this bashful smile, and Harry immediately found himself trying to put together another stuttering compliment.

“No, really, Hermione you- you look lovely. I meant to say earlier that, well, the dress is quite…”

He glanced down at Hermione’s skirts looking for an adjective. He found the yards of soft fabric still hiked up above her knees for maximum racing efficiency, and Harry’s train of thought was abruptly replaced with Hermione’s skin and Hermione’s thighs and _holy shit Hermione’s thighs._

“Quite… what?” Hermione raised a brow.

“Blue.” Harry said blankly.

“… Thanks.”

His voice came out a bit higher than normal as he forced his eyes up and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Slipping her delicate heels back on and mercifully smoothing her skirt back down to the floor, she took his arm. “Why not.”

Harry was surprised at just how strange it didn’t feel to walk into the ballroom arm and arm with his best friend.

Earlier, with Pavarti Patil urging him forward and the whole school staring at the procession of champions as they made their way to do the first dance, Harry had wanted to dissapparate on the spot.

Now, he felt calm, maybe even a little excited as he headed toward the shiny floor with Hermione tucked into his side. From dragon slaying, to dancing- it all seemed less daunting with her in his corner.

Harry pointed up to the glittery snow drifting in the air above their heads as they wandered into the ornate hall.

“Looks like a cheap trick now,” he shrugged. “No comparison.”

Another bashful smile. It was becoming addictive, chasing that particular smile out. 

The music was much louder here, reverberating off the stone walls, the bassline shuddering through his bones.

“It sounds like muggle music!” Hermione remarked.

She was right. The sound was a bit outdated, resembling 80s rock music, but if you changed a few lyrics from goblins and ghouls to cars and girls then it could have been on the radio back in Surrey.

Hermione glanced around at the other dancers. Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs dotted the floor with flashes of silver and burgundy, and Harry idly wondered if Hermione was looking for Viktor. He really hoped she wasn’t.

The dancefloor had largely become a throbbing mass of anonymity, although Harry did spot the odd familiar face. Neville twirling Ginny Weasley in dizzy circles. Pavarti having a grand time with her Durmstrang. Dean dancing close to Seamus, nodding at Harry with a knowing smile- though what he knew, Harry wasn’t sure. And Romilda Vane, scowling at Hermione like she was about to throw an unforgivable curse across the dancefloor. Before he could distract her, Hermione followed his gaze. She ignored the other witch, as if she couldn’t care less, but Harry didn’t miss how her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

Despite how glad he was to not miss out on his only Yule ball, Harry found himself wishing they were alone again, under Hermione’s snow where she wasn’t afraid to dance like she wanted to and they could forget about everyone else. But they had made it this far, and he would be damned if he didn’t give Hermione back the night off she deserved.

Sweeping his anxieties aside, he turned her back to him and started bopping along to the beat. After a moment’s hesitation, she followed suit, holding his eyes with resolve. It was the same face she made when she was trying to pass a test, he realised. For all her confidence and indifference, Hermione wasn’t totally immune to caring what other people thought. If only she could see herself under the spinning lights. If only she knew just how brightly she shone in dark places.

If only…

“Muggle music means muggle moves right?” He had to shout over the music.

Hermione arched a brow.

“Do you know this one?”

Possessed by the need to bring back the carefree Hermione he’d danced with in the common room, Harry started doing an extremely uncool dance move he’d seen Dudley do at one of his birthday parties with his grubby little friends.

“This, is called the shopping trolly,” he grinned, driving an imaginary cart in a circle around Hermione as she laughed.

“That is atrocious!” She exclaimed.

“Oh, not as atrocious as the chainsaw,” He mimed pulling a chainsaw chain. “Or _the sprinkler_?”

He’d saved the worst for last, and Hermione shook with laughter, pushing his arms down and taking his hands to stop him pulling out any more whacky moves. She began to dance with him properly, the way she had earlier, busting out an endearingly clumsy attempt at the twist. Harry made a note to thank Dudley for unwittingly teaching him his awful moves.

Harry leaned into Hermione’s ear. “Don’t worry about them,” He said “you’re brilliant Hermione.”

He felt her smile against his cheek. That was three. They danced to the rest of the song like no one was watching.

People were of course, and they’d give him hell for it later, but Harry didn’t care.

He lost track of how many songs the band played, and how many cups of punch they scampered off to drink, gulping it down quick to get back in time to make a fool of themselves on the dancefloor. But Harry and Hermione were in the centre of the hall, hanging onto each other for dear life after a very enthusiastic funky chicken dance, when the music suddenly slowed.

Hermione glanced over Harry’s shoulder at the band with a sort of wistful expression- the kind she got in class when they were teaching her about something she didn’t already know. Standing up straighter, Harry turned their desperate embrace into a proper one, circling his arms around her waist. Hermione looked down at his arms, and back at his face.

“You seem to have captured me,” she laughed.

Harry shrugged. “I’ve never done a slow dance before,” he said “is this right?”

Hermione searched his face, sobering just a little. “I don’t know, I’ve never done one either.”

She looked out at the other couples wrapped around each other on the floor, making circles with little swaying steps. There were only a few dancers left, Harry realised. Where had the crowd gone?

“Well I think we need to be a little more serious,” Hermione said, schooling her features into an imitation of the big moony eyes Fluer Delacour was giving Roger Davies.

“Right,” Harry nodded, plastering a mock serious expression on his own face. “And you need to put your arms around my neck like I’m about to try run for dear life.”

Hermione’s serious face slipped an inch but she recovered it, moving her hands from his arms to cradle them around his neck.

“And now we just sway a bit?” Hermione sounded underwhelmed. “It’s not nearly as monumental as films make it seem.”

Harry nodded sagely. “The chicken dance _was_ more advanced.”

They stifled their giggles as they swayed, watching the real couples move together.

“Goodness, Hagrid and Maxime aren’t leaving much room for jesus are they?” Hermione snickered. “Or in McGonagall’s words,”

“Room for Merlin,” Harry finished.

They chuckled, remembering the dancing class when McGonagall had screeched at a very touchy Mcglaggen to leave room between himself and his partner for the great wizard. Harry and Hermione had absolutely lost it. Thanks to their outburst McGonagall had made everyone practice for an extra 10 minutes, but it had been worth it to watch Hermione barely containing a fit of giggles for the rest of the class. It was nice, having someone else who had grown up in the muggle world to laugh with when the wizarding world got to be too much. Had he ever told her that?

By the time the song was over, they weren’t leaving much room for Merlin either. Hermione was pressed against him, her chin on his shoulder. He had grown a bit, he realised. He was the same height as her now, and she was in heels.

Another slow song followed, and Harry was surprised to find that he was glad he didn’t have to let go of Hermione just yet. She was warm and so much softer than he could have imagined. Where all girls this soft? Harry didn’t know. He had never imagined Hermione to be so.

A foreign feeling washed over him as they swayed together. It had been so long since he’d felt it that it took him a whole song to recognise that it was contentment.

The last time he remembered being so at peace was in first year- before he knew anything about dark lords and destiny- sitting in the nook of his dorm window during a storm and watching rain fall outside the castle. Safe and warm and fed, Hedwig in his lap, he remembered feeling for the first time in his short life like he was exactly where he was meant to be. When the year closed with him nearly being killed by his D.A.D.A professor, he had thought he’d never feel so certain of anything again.

Dancing with Hermione, he felt certain.

Of what, he wasn’t sure. But the feeling was strong. A _rightness_. An _of course_ -ness.

He interlaced his hands where they rested on the small of Hermione’s back and closed his eyes.

“Cho looks really pretty,” Hermione said, after a time.

Harry opened his eyes and turned where Cho Chang was wrapped around Cedric Diggory, her head on his chest- the picture of bliss. Clad all in creamy silk, her sleek hair pulled back in an immaculate bun, Cho did look pretty. She also looked happy. Harry waited for his chest to lurch in longing or jealousy or love but it barely managed a stutter of confusion. Maybe he was just tired of pining for the night. He would have to get back to it another time.

“She looks like she chose the right date,” Harry admitted.

Hermione leaned back to look at him. “That’s very mature of you to say, Harry.” She remarked, pleasant surprise in her voice.

“Cedric did it right. He asked her right away. She deserves that.”

Hermione squeezed his shoulder softly. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re turning out to be a pretty good date as well.”

Harry smiled, her words warming him from the inside out.

“So are you,” he said. “Viktor doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

Hermione blushed. He didn’t think he’d ever made her do that before.

He wanted to make her do it again.

There was that certainty.

“Hermione.”

“Mm?”

Harry didn’t know what to think. He didn’t want to think at all. And wasn’t that the point of all this?

“This is a slow song.”

“Yes.”

“We’re under the mirror ball.”

She looked up, silver light catching in brown eyes. “We are.”

“Isn’t this where you imagined your first kiss?”

Hermione stopped swaying, looking at him with confusion.

Harry swallowed. Maybe he could be certain for both of them.

He leaned forward, just a fraction. Hermione stared at him, then down at his lips. He reached up to cradle the side of her face the way he had seen other boys do. Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed. The world seemed to slow right down.

Then Hermione’s eyes flew open, and she pushed him back.

“Wait,” she said sharply “Harry, what- what’s happening?”

Harry blinked.

“I… We..” Harry swallowed.

“You were about to...”

“Kiss you.”

Hermione stared at him, another perfect blush running from her face all the way down her neck.

“Why?” She managed.

Harry felt himself flushing scarlet to match her.

“Because- It was your perfect moment, and you’re... and I…”

Why _was_ he about to kiss Hermione? The girl that he’d insisted to himself and everyone else was practically like a sister to him- Nothing more than a very, very good friend. Why now was he seeing something he hadn’t before? Why tonight?

Harry came up with more questions than answers, and the longer he looked at her, the more he came back to what she’d said in the common room. About having one night of teenage normalcy. He managed his heart so carefully, so closely. He didn’t even know what it wanted half the time. It was all mixed up with a destiny he couldn’t change and a life of fear and danger and pain that he couldn’t escape.

But for a moment he’d felt certain and safe. And she’d smiled. And he’d never lied to her.

“I wanted to,” he admitted. “And I thought maybe, you wanted to. Isn’t that meant to be enough?”

Hermione considered him for a long while, a tight frown on her face. And every moment she didn’t say yes his heart sank further. And every moment she didn’t say no his heart beat faster.

“Hermione,” he said when he couldn’t take it any longer. She seemed frozen to the spot. For once Harry couldn’t read her. “We can just forget I ever said anything if you w-”

Without another word, Hermione untangled herself from him and ran off the dancefloor.

Harry stood for a second, arms still outstretched in the shape of her, going cold as he watched her make for one of the side doors.

Then he was racing after her, shoving past Viktor Krum and a small army of girls standing by the dessert table as he followed her out into the night.

“Hermione, wait!”

He burst out the door to find the lawn had been transformed into a garden of rosebushes, all lit up with hundreds of little christmas lights. Real snow was falling out here, mingling with red and white petals on a gentle breeze, and in the centre of it all, was Hermione.

“Hermione,” Harry said, approaching slowly “I didn’t mean to-“

“It wasn’t a dare?” She asked, turning around. Her eyes were shining. The twinkling lights made her dress shimmer. “It wasn’t a trick. It wasn’t a potion or a spell?”

Harry stared at her.

“No, of course not.” He said fervently. “I just…”

“You just wanted to.” Hermione repeated his words from inside, as if they were some impossible language even she couldn’t decipher.

This was what happened when he didn’t keep himself in check. This was what happened when he let himself act his age. Maybe he’d been wrong and this whole night of being young and dumb had been a very bad idea-

Before Harry could apologise Hermione crossed the snow between them, grabbed the sleeves of his dress shirt, and kissed him.

For a moment, Harry went still, his eyes falling shut. She tasted like vanilla lipgloss and punch, her lips were so warm and she was moving them gently against his in a way that made his stomach swoop and his knees go weak. For a moment, it was all he could do to hold himself up. And then she made a little sound, and a hunger set in and _oh_ he wanted this more than anything.

Before he gave in, Harry pulled away, just far enough to speak.

“Promise me we’ll still be friends,” Harry gasped, not daring to open his eyes. “I cant lose-“

“You wont.”

A promise and a breath and her hands were in his hair, pulling him back in, and he didn’t know exactly how to go about it but he did his best to kiss her back.

It wasn’t perfect, but gods, it felt pretty close. He pulled her tight against him, arms wrapping around the satin at her waist like they were still dancing. He slipped his tongue along her lower lip, looking for more vanilla gloss, more warmth, more Hermione. The snow stung his cheeks and her nails grazed the nape of his neck and nothing had ever felt as magic as kissing Hermione Granger.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless, wearing matching looks of surprise.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, a dazed smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“Yeah?” Harry knew he was pulling the same face back.

“ _Wow,”_ she breathed.

“Yeah.” He agreed.

He felt like he had just touched down on the quidditch pitch after a perfect flight, a hundred golden snitches in his pockets.

This was why every movie ended in a kiss, he thought. Every bit of him felt alive and fearless and content to stay wrapped around Hermione for the rest of his life.

Suddenly light exploded around them in a million different colours, the christmas lights shaking free of the rosebushes in a flutter of wings because they werent christmas lights at all. _Fairies_ , Harry realised. They whipped around them like fireworks, jingling with mirth at the pair of teenagers.

Hermione laughed and hugged Harry tightly, burying her face in his neck as the fairies danced through the air.

“This,” she whispered “was _exactly_ how it was meant to be.”

\---

They walked back together through the ballroom, up the ridiculous moving stairs and through a smug looking portrait, holding hands, taking their time. They didn’t talk about the kiss. Maybe they never would. Harry wasn’t sure what would happen tomorrow.

But somehow tomorrow didn’t matter. For once, he was happy to take things moment by moment, Hermione’s hand in his.

They came to an abrupt halt in the doorway of the common room.

_They had forgotten to remove Hermione’s enchantment._

The floor, the furniture, the bookcases- everything was covered in snow, with more silvery flakes falling thick by the minute. Knee-deep in the mess and cursing under her breath, McGonagall was trying in vain to banish the inclement weather as the first years scampered around in the powder.

“Off to bed with you,” she was telling them, trying another weather reversal spell on the ceiling. “Its well past midnight!”

The kids ignored her, pelting each other with snowballs.

Harry nudged Hermione with his elbow.

“We were _never_ here,” Harry murmured.

“Of course not- we were at the ball all night,” Hermione agreed.

“She can’t trace it back to us.”

“Goodnight then Harry!” Hermione squeaked, turning to him, and trying her best to keep a straight face despite the smile that threatened to spill out across her rosy cheeks at any moment.

“Goodnight Hermione” Harry tamped down his own grin. “Sleep well.”

Rolling her eyes, as if it were ridiculous to be so deliriously happy, Hermione brushed her hair out of her face and leant in to place one last quick kiss on Harrys cheek. And then she was off, kicking through the snow and wishing McGonagall a sheepish good night before racing up the stairs to the girls dorm.

Harry watched her go, and wandered into the wintery world of her creation, catching snowflakes in his hand.

“Mr Potter,” McGonagall narrowed her eyes at him as he meandered past, studying his dopey disposition with suspicion. “I trust you and your friends didn’t have anything to do with this little prank?”

“Course not, professor,” Harry said with a half-hearted shrug. “It looks just like the enchantment in the great hall though,” He pointed out “how would you go about lifting something like that?”

“So it does,” McGonagall said thoughtfully.

She raised her wand and tried another incantation. The clouds receded, fading into the air as if they’d never been there at all- leaving the piles snow behind.

McGonagall turned back to ask how he knew about the nature of the offending spell, but he was already jogging up the stairs to his dorm.

“Night, professor!” he called, taking the stairs three at a time.

The other boys were all in bed by the time he got back, and he tiptoed through to his bunk, careful not to wake them up. He collapsed in bed- waistcoat and shoes and all- utterly exhausted in a good way.

Brushing snow and fairy dust out of his hair Harry covered his face with his hands and smiled, the moment in the rosebushes playing over and over behind his eyes until he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> try saying 'Muggle music means muggle moves' 10 time fast lmao
> 
> thank u thank u thank u 4 reading


End file.
